Lord Daddy
by Madness For Sale
Summary: Unforseen circumstances force Voldemort to bring Harry back to Riddle Manor with him on the night of October 31, 1981, after trying to kill him. How are our favourite Dark Lord and his followers going to deal with taking care of a baby?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Twinkle twinkle little star**

** How I wonder what you are**

** Up above the sky you shine**

** Harry Potter is not mine**

LORD DADDY

**Chapter 1 – In which Harry is adopted, the Death Eaters are big softies and Voldemort is in denial**

"_Avada Kedavra_"

Lily Potter's hair fanned out when she fell down, but Voldemort ignored her and walked to the crib, where the child who was apparently destined to be his downfall was looking on, chewing on his thumb.

He was already saying the words that would have rid him of the child, when he felt something inside him shake. In response to the cold-bloodied murder, a little piece separated itself from his already mistreated soul, and latched onto the nearest living thing in the room. Harry.

In vain he tried to stop it, to force it back where it belonged, but it was too late and the curse that had left his lips was already directed at the baby, and consequently at his fragment of soul. He couldn't quite imagine the results of casting a killing curse on his own soul, but he just _knew_ they wouldn't be good.

As if time had dilated around him, Voldemort extended his arm towards the green magic speeding in the direction of the blasted prophecy baby, and with a blood-curdling scream tried to disperse it.

He almost succeeded, the magic being absorbed by the furniture and the walls, which cracked and trembled, but he used so much of his remaining power that by all means he should have died.

Of course being the Dark Lord, and a farsighted one at that, he didn't die. But his body was little more than brittle bones and a thin layer of skin held together by his spirit. Panting with effort, he grabbed the baby who carried a piece of his soul, and used the last ounce of his magic to apparate back to Riddle Manor.

He could have left Harry Potter there to rot, but he had a very detailed, very unpleasant image of how things could go if he left the child prophesied to kill him, carrying a piece of his soul there for Dumbledore to find.

As soon as he hit the stone floor he heard Wormtail, who had just escaped after framing Sirius Black, whimper and kneel before him. He managed to wheeze "Ritual of Rebirth, third shelf on the right," before losing consciousness.

Wormtail shot a look at his master, then at the baby, and hurried to comply.

After everything was prepared, and some additional research was done, he performed the Rebirth Ritual, cutting off his arm, spilling blood of the enemy forcibly taken from some prisoners in the dungeons of the Manor, and said the words.

Wormtail lowered Voldemort – who was just about a skeleton with a spirit by now – into the cauldron, and sparks and white steam emanated from it.

Finally, the Dark Lord's newly fashioned body rose slowly, white, tall and serpentine.

Harry's happy giggles were the soundtrack of his resurrection.

Voldemort rubbed the bridge of his new, and rather flat, nose. He ha the feeling that with a baby around his moments of glory were going to decrease consistently. "Robe me," he ordered resignedly to his servant, who was too busy writhing in agony on the floor to listen to him.

"Wormtail!" he called with his high, cold voice "Robe me, you fool,"

The short little man howled, holding his bleeding stump and ignoring his master.

"Oh for the love of-..." He picked up his wand, cauterized the wound and fashioned a new, silvery and functional hand for his follower.

"_Now_, robe me, you cretin,"

Because he could have done it himself but this way he created an atmosphere of servitude, fear and solemn power.

If you ignored Harry's ectatic squeals and clucks, that is.

* * *

Everyone had a sombre expression that reflected just how terrifying they considered Lord Voldemort to be. The aforementioned Dark Lord was sitting on something more resembling a throne than a chair, shooting chilling glares at some of the Death Eaters, informing them of the Crucio they'd be shortly receiving.

Avery shuddered and looked down, his complexion ghastly and his eyes wide with fear. He had failed both the tasks his master had trusted him with in the last two months, he knew he's be punished but he couldn't have anticipated the dark mood his master would be in, or the promise of suffering beyond human comprehension in those glinting red eyes.

Even his loyal servant Bellatrix, who could no matter what look at the Dark Lord with awe, had her head lowered and her hands folded into her lap, managing for once to look almost like a normal person.

The air was heavy with fear, the tension palpble, and everyone at the table waited stiffly for Voldemort to begin the meeting.

"My loyal followers," he began solemnly, "As of today nothing stands in the way of my greatness. The Potter boy... doesn't pose a threat anymore, and the prophecy has been thwarted. Some of you–"

A loud infant's giggle resonated in the stone walls of the Manor.

Voldemort's serpentine face twitched.

"–some of you have not ccomplished what I had requested of them. I am talking about you, Avery. If you dare fail one more time–"

Another giggle. Voldemort ignored it.

"–one more time, I will Imperio you, make you dance naked in the street, force you to pluck away all of your teeth one by one, Crucio you, and only then I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?"

The Dark Lord had tried to act nonchalant about it, but the Death Eaters were whispering and looking around in search of the source of those noises.

"Y-Yes, my Lord," answered Avery a bit dubiously. "Was that a baby's voice...?"

"NO" Voldemort growled, but he was partly covered by Harry's loud giggles.

And that was how the Death Eaters found out about Harry.

* * *

"Oh my God. You really kept him!" breathed Bellatrix on Harry's face, sounding like a doting Aunt and looking like a demented shark, "he's so cute! Aren't you? Aren't you?"

It was probably the first time her horrible, mock baby voice was directed at an actual baby.

"Yes, well, I'm not keeping it because I want to. I find myself forced to keep an eye on him because of certain circumstances that leave him with a fragment of my soul," clarified Voldemort, although no one was listening to him in favor of huddling around Harry's improvised crib and make cooing noises.

Lucius patted the Dark Lord on the shoulder understandingly.

"I have a one-year-old son, too. Tough shit,"

Dolohov, known sadist and ruthless murderer, gasped and turned a horrified, reproaching look at them. "No bad words around the baby!"

"Wow," said Mulciber, touching the infant's cheek gingerly "it's really Harry Potter,"

"Yes!" cooed Narcissa tickling Harry, who gurgled enthusiastically, "And look at these green eyes! I can't wait to dress him up,"

"Do you think he can talk?" asked Macnair excitedly "hey, try to say Walden. It's my name. W-a-l-d-e-n," he instructed.

"Gah,"

"Wal-den" he enunciated slowly.

"Waw-haw"

"Come on, you're almost there!" cheered Macnair, with a manic look that he only got when he tortured, maimed or killed. "Wal-den, come on, you can do it!"

"Og-den"

Everyone stared at him.

"Kid's got good taste," Lucius said, and even he seemed impressed "Ogden's Firewhiskey is the best. We're really doing a good job,"

Macnair burst out laughing, and he and Dolohov high-fived.

* * *

"Daddy," the infant said, pointing his chubby little finger at the Darkest Lord of All Time.

"_No_," insisted Voldemort, "I am not your_ 'daddy'_. Your _'daddy' _died. There's no such thing as a _'daddy'_ for you. If you call me _'daddy'_ just one more time, I _will_ strangle –"

"Daddy," little Harry gurgled happily.

"I am not your daddy!"

Voldemort shook him, trying to make his point. Harry thought it was a game and giggled more.

"Now listen to me, you infernal child. If you don't stop this ridiculous behaviour right now, I will be forced to use violence. Am I clear? I have no qualms about it, although I will refrain from causing damage to the head, because I heard the future consequence are rather dire and the last thing I want is having to put up with someone even more stupid than the norm, and that is saying something, believe me...anyway," Voldemort caught himself mid-rant and looked back at the baby. Harry was staring at him with bright wide eyes, sucking on his thumb.

"What?" the Dark Lord asked cautiously, "Did you finally understand?"

Harry giggled.

"Daddy!"

A screeching, deafening and overall chilling scream of frustration was heard throughout Riddle Manor.

* * *

They had brought Harry to the battlefield with them.

In hindsight, that may not have been the best idea, but they needed every Death Eater available, and Voldemort felt uneasy leaving him at the Manor alone. Lucius had whispered that he understood, that it happened to his wife too, and it was his motherly instinct that prevented him from leaving the child alone.

He had been duly Crucio'd.

They had hidden Harry in a secluded spot, a bit far from the battlefield, behind a bush.

At first everything had seemed to go well. The plain was littered by corpses, and the few surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix had fled, but then they heard it.

Harry was wailing loudly. Equally panicked expressions painted themselves on the Death Eaters' faces, and they ran to the hiding spot as fast as possible.

The scene that greeted them made a few of the Dark Lord followers whisper in awe and smile tenderly.

They had arrived just in time to see Harry's accidental magic tear itself free and smash on the head the Order member who had found him. The man, who was later identified as Edgar McKinnon, fell down lifelessly.

"Look," whispered Bellatrix welling up "He killed him,"

"His first bout of accidental magic," said a visibly moved Dolohov, "And he's already following in his daddy's footsteps,"

Voldemort Crucio'd him. "I'm not his _'daddy'_. I'm not anyone's _'daddy',_"

Everyone ignored him in favor of cooing and patting Harry on the head.

"His first kill!" said Macnair when they got back to the Manor, "We have to capture this moment,"

He waved his wand and conjured a camera.

"That's right" said Narcissa dabbing at her eyes with an handkerchief, "We have to celebrate. I think we still have a bottle of champagne somewhere here,"

"Oh yes, and Mulciber, go heat some milk for our champion, I bet after today's events he's pretty hungry,"

"Nott, change his diaper!"

"What? But I'm not very good at it..."

"I showed you last time, you dumbshit,"

"No swearing around the baby!"

Even in the middle of all the chaos, Lucius saw the Dark Lord trying to wipe a tear away unnoticed, and he patted him on the shoulder.

And was subsequently Crucio'd.

* * *

"I am _not _going to cuddle you,"

"Mooh,"

"And I won't buy_ any _disgusting colorful plastic toys whatsoever,"

"Gnaggah,"

"Because I don't care about you. You're just a collateral. But I won't intentionally mistreat you either, because that would mean I care about your existence,"

"Geehaw,"

"Instead, I won't cuddle you, but I will give you this,"

He dropped the object in the child's hands somewhat awkwardly, and hastily took off. For the following years little Harry couldn't sleep without it, and would start to cry if someone took it away.

Many people found a baby chewing on a skull a disturbing sight.

The Death Eaters found it endearing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: O Rowling, Rowling! Wherefore am I not Rowling? Sadly I'm not her**

**And I didn't write Harry Potter**

A\N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed\followed\faved! If there are any spelling errors it's probably because I was watching Coraline while I wrote...

**Chapter 2 – In which Harry makes a fuss, the Death Eaters don't swear, and Snape babysits**

"Next!" hissed Voldemort, gesturing for Rookwood to take the useless man back to the dungeons. Wormtail, in the meanwhile, brought another prisoner in the room. He was a short, plump man with dirty blonde hair and a disgustingly freckled face. The Dark Lord bound him with a flick of his wand, eliciting a frightened wimper, then laid back in his seat and nodded toward Yaxley.

"Who is this one?" he asked softly, trying not to look as tired as he felt. The Death Eaters around him weren't much better, everyone yawning, rubbing their eyes and trying hard not to nodd off.

"He's Jack MacKinnon," whispered Yaxley reading his notes "brother of Edgar McKinnon... the guy Harry offed last time...he's thirty-nine, part of the Order of the Phoenix, married, and has a sweet tooth, especially for Peppermint Toads and Sugar Quills"

"Well then, Dolohov, do your worst and pry out some information. _Quietly_"

"Yes, my Lord"

Even the usually blood-thirsty Dolohov didn't seem to be up to the effort of torture, and that became especially obvious when he kneeled until he was face-level with the prisoner and held up three fingers.

"Listen here, McKinnon. I give you three bags of Peppermint Toads, and you tell me where Dumbledore's hiding, yeah?"

McKinnon gaped.

"Come on," scowled Dolohov "I'll even throw in a bag of Sugar Quills, what do you say?"

McKinnon shot a terrified look around and started screaming at the top of his lungs. "You...you're crazy...You're all crazy! Let me go! Someone help me! Let me go!"

A second later, every Death Eater had their wand at the prisoner's throat.

"_Silencio!_ You little bastard" hissed Macnair ferociously "what do you think you're doing, uh? Disregarding people's damn efforts, is it?"

Mulciber leaned in with blood-shot eyes, so close to McKinnon that he was spitting in his face. "Do you know what that is?" he pointed jerkily at Harry's crib in the corner of the room "It's a damn crib, that's what it is. With a baby inside. Now, how many hours do you think we've spent to put him to sleep?"

"Two days, you piece of shit," said Dolohov, pointing at the huge bags under his eyes "We haven't slept for two days to put him to sleep. What if you had wakened him?"

By now, if McKinnon had still his voice, he'd have probably been screaming his throat raw.

"And they call us the bad guys...what about this scum? Who wakes a sleeping baby?"

"Yeah, I bet he kicks puppies in his spare time!"

* * *

"That fluffy idiot! I can't believe he bought baby food for the wrong age" complained Macnair trying to feed Harry and being spit all over instead.

Voldemort didn't know if he was more disgusted by the spitting, the idiocy of one Crabbe senior or the 'fluffy'.

"Nott, is that milk ready? What the fudge is taking you so long, you son of a biscuit?"

"Just a second, for duck's sake...I can't find my wand, has someone seen it?"

"It's here, you marshmellow-head!"

Mulciber must have noticed the look of intense confusion on the Dark Lord's face, because he hurried to explain.

"It was Dolohov's idea, my Lord...no swearing around the baby, and all that. So we substitute the bad words with child-friendly ones"

"Well," he said hesitantly. "you should know that when you talk like that you're mother-puppy disturbing"

Everyone looked at him. There was something deeply unsettling about hearing words like 'puppy' come out of Lord Voldemort's mouth.

* * *

"Ah-ha, I finally caught you," taunted triumphally Rookwood as he managed to body-bind an Order member.

"Elphias! Just let me finish with Yaxley and I will help!" screamed another one of Dumbledore's puppets in the chaos.

"It's no use and you know it," yelled back Rookwood laughing sadistically "once I get them, I never let go, especially this sugarplumming son of a cupcake!"

Everyone stopped doing what they were doing to look at him. Friends and foes alike stopped fighting to stare at Rookwood with the same creeped out, disbelieving expressions.

"I...uh..the baby!...it's not...I'm not...I don't... Dammit. Can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

"Yeah, well" said Elphias Doge, who would have scratched his head if he hadn't been bound. "We can, but it's a bit hard taking you seriously right now...I mean, 'sugarplumming'? 'Son of a cupcake'? _Really?_"

* * *

Snape had been on his way to go to Dumbledore and either cry on the old man's shoulder or kill him or both, when he'd received Voldemort's message. He had kept the child because of an accident involving his soul. Snape had then changed his plans and got back to headquartes.

What he wondered was when his plans had changed to babysitting Harry. The only thing he knew was that when the Dark Lord had given him that task, he had answered with something profoundly intellectual, like "nguh".

He didn't know how he felt about the entire ordeal yet, and adding a baby to the mix was not a great way to shed light on things. In general, however, he felt eerily calm. It might have been the shock, of course, but he felt like his sadness for Lily's death was balanced by James's, which made him quite happy, so that in the end he didn't feel anything.

The only problem was their son.

The child was peacefully sleeping, and Snape hoped he would have stayed that way, because at the moment he wasn't sure if he hated him for being Potter's son or loved him for being Lily's.

He bent over the crib, and watched the infant sleep tightly. He was envelopped in pure black covers, hugging a human skull, and using Nagini as a pillow. Snape suddenly understood.

This was no child of Lily's or of James'.

This was a hundred percent the Dark Lord's.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Snape was ready to carve out his eyeballs and eat them with a sprinkle of salt and a sidedish of salad.

Harry was throwing a tantrum. Point was, Snape couldn't understand what it was about. So he had called the...experts. Or at any rate, people with more experience than him.

"Hmm," said Narcissa pensievely, listening to Harry's wails. "I think he's bored. Bella, sing him something"

"Me?... Alright," a huge, insane grin made its way through her face as she started singing some traditional nursery rhymes. Or something like that.

"_Mary had a little knife, little knife, little knife, Mary had a little knife, its blade was sharp and steel. Everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went, everywhere that Mary went, she was sure to kill. She brought it to school one day –_"

"Okay, okey, stop," interrupted Snape, with a wrinkle between his eyebrows that cracked his sardonic expression. "That will be enough, and to spare. I think it's better if you two go"

He pushed the two Black sisters out and closed the door behind them.

He looked at Harry, who seemed al little curious about what was happening but ready to revert to the screaming, and wondered what Bella was thinking. What kind of things was she singing? What was he going to grow into, if people like Bella were his rolemodels? 'Mary had a little knife'...of all the foolishness!

Snape cleared his throat purposefully.

Afterall, if he wanted something done, he had to do it himself.

He leaned in towards Harry.

"_P__eter Peter, people eater, had a chainsaw long a metre, slaughter slaughter, so divine, cook and roast and serve with wine..._"

Harry squealed and wriggled his fingers in pleasure.

Snape smirked smugly. Now _he_ made a fine nanny, if he said so himself.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when everyone was about to throw in the towel. Harry couldn't be calmed down in any way. They had tried everything from feeding him, to changing his nappy, to giving him his favourite dark artifact... Bellatrix had even sung him 'Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen', but even that hadn't worked.

He waved his tiny little fists in the air, and continued screaming like he had for the last three hours, ignoring the Death Eaters' attempts to soothe him and make him go back to sleep. He wailed, and bawled, and generally made a racket, and nothing seeming to calm him.

Just when everything seemed lost, the door opened, and Voldemort entered regally, slowly making his way to the crib.

His stony expression betrayed nothing of what he thought of the ruckus.

He glanced at the screaming infant.

Harry immediately quieted.

The Death Eaters turned to look at one other, everyone with a stunned and extremely awed expression. They could have kissed him for the miracle he'd worked, and seeing as the man was a bald humanoid snake without a nose, that was saying something.

"That's our Lord," whispered Avery, eyes brimming with awe and pride. These were the times they remembered why they had chosen a life of crime, danger and Crucios _voluntarily_. "His aura of evil is so overpowering that when babies see him, they stop crying"

* * *

"It will be simple," explained Voldemort matter-of-factly, pacing back and forth, brisk like a war general but betrayed by the magalomaniac glint in his eyes. "Once we have seized control of Britain, conquering Spain and France will be easily done by kidnapping or blackmailing some diplomats. As more and more becomes mine, the other European countries will surrender like the mindless, weak sheep they are,"

He unrolled a world map and magically glued it to the wall, then he used his wand to point at the places.

"Europe acquired, you realize that there are still four more continents to go. The best way to proceed at this stage is seeding doubt and instilling fear of each other in their hearts. Of course, I have taken into consideration that they could form some sort of alliance or coalition, but I reckon that their weak nature and mutual distrust will be enough to ensure that they don't interfere. As for America, they are disorganised but powerful, but still, I have enough minions for that, and I plan to reclute more. The plans for Africa are still in progress. Any questions?"

"Gahoo"

"'Gahoo'?" asked Voldemort, a bit insulted. "I lay down my best plans for world domination and that's what you say? 'Gahoo'?"

Harry giggled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to deny my rights on HP, not to claim them **

A\N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed\followed\faved! Also, thanks for pointing out that stray 't' in Herzen and that missing umlaut. Funny thing is, I actually can speak a bit of German...yeah, I really have no excuses. Oh, and who guesses the reference in the disclaimer gets a virtual cookie.

Anaelyssa: Indeed, knives are too mild for Snape's tastes, to the point of it being insulting...Hence the more superior chainsaw.

DiamondStuddedRainbow: Borrow away, my dear. If you credit me, that is. I mean, I did invent those nursery rhymes, or rather modify them. Otherwise_... one, two, I'll go after you, three, four, I'll open the door, four, five, I'll push you in a beehive, six, seven, I'll send you to Heaven... _Joking. But maybe not.

**Chapter 3 – in which Avery makes an unfortunate comment, Voldemort takes revenge, and Harry spits**

The Dark Lord got back to the house late at night. He had been doing stuff all day, and finally, _finally_, it was time to rest. Man, being evil sure was tiring.

Stifling a yawn, because Dark Lords didn't yawn, he climbed up the stairs and went to the kitchen for a quick meal before bed, and he found Mulci, Avery and Dolohov waiting for him with Harry.

"Good evening, my Lord," said Dolohov tightly, his arms folded across his chest, pointedly not looking at him.

Dolohov lifted Harry on his hip and started combing his black, unruly hair with his fingers, still not looking at his master.

"You're not even going to say hi to Harry?" he asked with fake indifference, while Harry chewed on The Skull. "That's the least you could do, my Lord"

Voldemort was confused. Had he done something wrong? Why was Dolohov angry at him? Did he need to Crucio him? In any case, he decided to do as he said, and he awkwardly walked to Harry and extended a reluctant finger to him.

"Um, hi Harry" he muttered uncertainly.

"Daddy," said Harry with a big, bright smile, grabbing his finger with his chubby little hand.

Voldemort automatically twitched.

Dolohov scoffed. "It's a wonder he still recognizes you, seeing as you're never here, my Lord"

"What?" asked Voldemort, whose metaphorical eyebrow had reached his metaphorical hairline.

What was the matter with Dolohov?

"What is the matter with you, Dolohov?"

Did he really need to Crucio him?

"Do I really need to Crucio you?"

Dolohov pointed an accusing finger at the Dark Lord.

"You're never home! It's always work and work and work with you...you never have time for us! And you missed him walking for the first time!"

"He...He walked?" asked Voldemort with an unreadable expression.

"Yes! But you, like every other time, were working! Are we that unimportant to you?"

"Dude," whispered Avery loudly. "What are you, his wife?"

Everyone froze. An awkward, horrified silence fell upon them as they tried to imagine it.

"Yeah...I'm going to pretend that didn't happen," answered Mulciber with the haunted eyes of a person who had witnessed unimaginable horrors.

They all went separate directions, without meeting each other's eyes.

* * *

"Welcome home, dear. How was work?"

Voldemort slowly walked into the kitchen. A woman was cooking with her back to him. Who dared call him 'dear'? He hadn't been 'dear' since...well, ever. He'd never been a 'dear' kind of guy, really. He was more of the 'master' type. His hand inched towards his wand, but he wanted to see who was it that dared talk to him that way.

Although, the food she was cooking smelled really good...perhaps he could keep her around, afterall. He trepidantly walked to the kitchen counter where she was preparing salad.

He peered over.

Dolohov's bearded, ruvid face with make up on it smiled sweetly at him.

"Dear, dinner's ready, sit down or it'll get cold"

Voldemort screamed.

Then he woke up panting, shivering and wanting to wash his eyes with bleach.

His bald head gleaming with sweat, he promised himself to Crucio Avery first thing in the morning. And Dolohov, for good measure.

* * *

The next morning, Voldemort sat at the kitchen table, his wand at the ready. He hadn't managed more than two hours of sleep after that, because everytime he was about to drift to sleep, Dolohov's beardy, lipsticked face popped up in his mind. His skin was grey and there were huge, black circles under his eyes. Oh, someone was going to _pay _for that.

Avery walked to the door yawning. He blinked at the Dark Lord's stormy expression.

"_Crucio_"

He fell to the floor while Voldemort exacted his sweet revenge.

After a while, Dolohov entered stretching his arms tiredly. He shot a look at Avery's body and seemed to consider a quick retreat.

"_Crucio_"

He was caught before he could attempt to do anything and fell down beside the other Death Eater, wondering what was wrong with their Lord that morning.

Just then, Wormtail came in with his usual cowardly air and timid manner. Out of reflex, Voldemort waved his wand.

"_Crucio_"

He hadn't meant to, but he was so used to punishing the rat that he couldn't help himself. Moreover that cowardly air grated on his nerves so early in the morning.

After a while, Malfoy entered, the only one perfectly combed, washed and dressed. He was whistling, until he saw three bodies lying on the floor. He looked at the Dark Lord's eye-bags and furrowed his brow.

"My Lord, I can lend you my concealer, if you want–"

"_Crucio_"

* * *

Voldemort revelled in being superior.

That was no news. The rush of power that came from knowing that other people were worms at his feet was what he lived for. There simply could not be something the Dark Lord wasn't good at.

This was no different.

_Given a choice between engaging in your hobby and spending time with your kid on Sunday morning, what would you choose?_

He intended to excell even at this, gulp, 'daddy' business.

Anyway, that was a tough one. He would have considered this a no-brainer before. Nothing was as thrilling, interesting and challenging as world domination. But lately...

Harry had started to become mean. What with the spitting, the pinching, the kicking-in-the-crotch thing...

It was so cute. He'd even said an almost-sentence. "Use'ss rat", he had exclaimed, pointing his chubby little finger at Wormtail. Harry had potential. He was going to grow into a wonderful adult.

So his answer would have to be the number three: 'I'd try to teach and share my hobby with my kid'.

Next.

_When your child acts up, what do you do? _

Well. He didn't really do anything. He had minions for that. He picked number one, 'I keep my cool and wait'. He _had_ calmed him more than once just by looking at him, afterall.

Alright, next.

_When you get home after a tough day, your wife immediately hands you the baby and asks you to give him a bath. What do you do? _

Wife?

What the–

Wife, as in–

Dolohov's face popped up in his mind, smiling sweetly with red lips on a beard.

Voldemort grabbed his wand.

He had some more Crucio'ing to do.

Avery, wherever he was, was in for Revenge 0.2, The Second Round.

As was Dolohov. Though he technically wasn't at fault. But had that ever stopped him?

* * *

Every Death Eater who encountered the Dark Lord in the halls of the Manor that evening had every reason to clutch their rosary and pray for mercy.

Lord Voldemort was pissed.

No one knew what or who was the target of such fury, but several witnesses admitted to hearing the words 'wife' and 'all their fault'.

When he got to the kitchen, he saw Harry seating in an extra-tall chair, so that he could safely reach the table and splash food around with his little hands. Macnair was feeding him, or trying to anyway, while Avery, Dolohov and Bellatrix were discussing heatedly over something. They all stopped doing what they were doing when they felt the evil wave Voldemort exuded from the doorway. Then Bellatrix's look turned to worshipful fascination.

"Daddy," greeted Harry happily. Voldemort duly grimaced.

Then he spotted Avery.

"You!" he was saying, ready to inflict his Monologue of Doom on him, but was interrupted.

Harry spit a soup projectile at Avery, hitting him between the eyes. The latter let out a girlish shriek, and the Dark Lord looked at Harry with a reluctantly impressed expression.

He turned to Dolohov.

"You!" he tried again.

And again, Harry landed a clean hit on Dolohov's face with his soup-y weaponry, before Voldemort could even say anything.

He watched Harry calculatingly. If it went on like that, they really _could_ share a hobby. Remembering how the How To Be A Good Parent guide recommended to always praise the child when he did something good, he hesitantly patted him on the head.

Spitting soup on people was definitely good in Lord Voldemort's books.

"Worthwhile endeavour," he complimented solemnly, shaking his chubby hand, as if he was talking to a business partner rather than a soup-spitting toddler. But well, praising was one thing, baby talk was quite another.

And he had to retain at least some of his Evil Overlord dignity.

* * *

Bellatrix and Harry were eating ice cream. Or rather, Bellatrix was eating ice cream, and Harry was smearing it all over the place.

"Hey, Harry" she said, suddenly standing up and bouncing excitedly on her feet with a crazed look. "Want to know a secret?"

"Secwet," Harry exclaimed, eliciting an admired look from Bella. He was starting to get the hang of words lately, though it didn't seem like he understood them yet.

She leaned in and whispered cospirationally.

"I'm gonna be the Dark Lord's wife!"

* * *

Voldemort and Harry were enjoying a calm evening on the couch. The former, on the right side, was reading the paper, while the latter, on the left, was eating pudding.

The Dark Lord produced a happy sigh. Nothing was more relaxing and at the same time satisfying than reading about his own evil-doings in the paper. Although, he did resent being called a 'noseless white abomination'.

As Bellatrix entered the living room, Harry pointed at her, exclaiming "Wife!".

Voldemort twitched so violently that he looked like he was having a seizure. He was kind of sensitive on the wife subject at the moment. He lowered the paper. "And what exactly does he mean by that?"

"No-Nothing, my Lord"

Crimson, sepentine eyes narrowed to slits. "What have you been telling him?"

Bellatrix blushed like a junior high girl in front of her crush.

"Harry," he simply said, returning to the paper.

In a matter of seconds, the dark-haired Death Eater found her face covered in pudding.

Harry and Voldemort's lips stretched in an identically evil smirk.

Yep, doing a good job so far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: There will be no foolish "I no own"s or silly overdone phrases in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and the exact art that is disclaiming. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to dodge accusations and avoid prison; I can tell you how to negate rights, repect authors, and even put a stopper in suing...Then again, you should know by now that Harry Potter is not mine, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach**

A\N: Thanks a lot to everyone who reviewed\followed\faved! It means a lot to me. Anyway, JanKi22 wins a virtual cookie. Congratulations for guessing the disclaimer, it was indeed from Shakespear's Julius Caesar!

**Chapter 4: in which the Death Eaters have fun, Harry draws and a nanny appears**

When Narcissa had been asked to take care of Harry while the Dark Lord went negotiating with the werewolves, she had been a bit worried. Afterall, she had to take care of her own son too, and disobeying her Lord wasn't an option. Also, Nott had asked if he could leave his son Theo with her too.

Three were too much though, and lest she ruined her perfect manicure, Narcissa had called Bellatrix for help.

They had settled in Harry's room with some baby stuff for them to do, like crayons, some colored cubes, a pot of carnivorous Venomous Tentacula, and other harmless objects.

Harry happily ran to the venomous, purplish plant, tripping twice in the process, and hugged it.

The plant attacked him, grabbing him and lifting him up in the air. Harry waved his little arms and legs.

"Fun!" he declared with a giant smile. The plant seemed to think so too, because suddenly, shiny white teeth were visible through the foliage. Seeing this, and imagining it was a blast, Draco let himself be wrapped and lifted by the purple branches. He giggled loudly with Harry, apparently unrestrained by Malfoy composure.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Macnair entered with his reading glasses on his face and an uber annoyed expression.

"What the rainbow is going on here? Someone's trying to wo- is that a Venomous Tentacula?"

He walked near it, examining its purple leaves. Then the vines grabbed his torso and lifted him in the air with Harry and Draco. Adult giggles added to the mix.

When the Tentacula tried to eat them, Macnair had reluctantly cast Reducto on it.

"Tch, plants are all the same," he scowled, brushing off bits of carnivorous plants from his robe. "You're having fun, playing together, and then they just have to eat you. I'll say, what immature behaviour!"

* * *

Some two hours later, the Dark Lord got home from his meeting in a dark mood. Damn werewolves were touchy. And loud. He just needed some peace and quiet-

A wave of noise reached his mistreated ears. A mix of baby laughter, adult bickering, baby bickering and adult laughter.

He hurried up the stairs and in Harry's room, from where all the noise originated. He burst into the room with a glare and his Monologue of Doom #3 ready. What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

The room's walls were mostly covered in toddler scrawls, but on a portion of it Bella was painting a rather disturbing picture of himself surrounded by little hearts. In the centre of the room, was a large purple plant which seemed to be strangling the remarkably expressionless Theodore Nott.

Yaxley and Macnair, in the meanwhile, were fighting.

"How could I have known that it regenerated itself stronger and bigger than before?!"

"It's common knowledge, nitwit, did you never go to school?"

As soon as he entered, everyone quieted, and even the plant put down Theo and embarassedly folded its branches like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

As all eyes were on him, Voldemort opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. None of his pre-packed Monologues of Doom was tailored for this situation.

In the end he settled for, "This is not a daycare center!" and stormed out.

* * *

When the Dark Lord tried to storm out in a rage, Harry grabbed the hem of his robe with an angelic smile. Voldemort internally grumbled. Be it killing him or storming out, the kid was always ruining his plans.

Harry held up a folded piece of paper with his tiny fist, waiting for Voldemort to accept it.

A tense silence spread in the room, everyone following the scene attentively. Even the Venomous Tentacula seemed to be watching interestedly.

Finally, the Dark Lord accepted the gift. It was such a private and moving moment, that Rookwood whispered, "Should we, you know, leave them alone?"

"No way," replied Macnair, seemingly confused as to why he would even think of doing that. "I'm not going to miss this!"

Voldemort unfolded the paper to reveal a crayon drawing. It depicted a red-eyed white blob, which he interpreted as himself, surrounded by corpses and soaked in a pool of blood.

It was adorable.

He awkwardly patted him on the head. The Death Eaters 'awww'd like a bunch of grannies.

* * *

"Lucius, old friend, I find myself in need of your advice"

"Indeed, my Lord? How may I be of service?"

"Is there a particular way of dealing with children's drawings? Am I required to keep it, frame it, burn it, throw it away?"

"Well, my Lord, the usual protocol is keeping it in your pocket for about two weeks, to show him that you value the drawing"

"Oh?"

"Yes, My Lord. And then you hide it, and after ten years you show it to Harry and make fun of him"

"And you follow this protocol?"

"Of course my Lord...actually, I should have one in my pocket right now...ah, here it is. Draco made it last week"

"Is that a...sunflower field? Well, he really _is_ your son...really, flowers, of all things"

"Thank you my Lord"

"That wasn't a compliment"

* * *

They had to go and terrorize the citizens of the magical world, and Voldemort had decided to leave Harry home. They needed everyone there to make an impression and cement their power through fear, but he wasn't comfortable at all leaving Harry alone.

So he had done the sensible thing. He'd called a nanny.

"Alright, I expect everything to be in order when I get back, am I clear?"

A grunt was his only answer.

"If something happens to Harry, and therefore to my piece of soul, I will personally mash you, grind you and eat you with potatoes and champagne. Again, am I perfectly clear?"

Another grunt. He kind of liked it. No useless chatter, no talk, no disobedience...

"Then, I leave everything in your hands"

_Grunt._

...Yup, an apron-clad half-rotten, decaying Inferius was definitely the best choice.

* * *

They had finally found Dumbledore's Headquarter. It hadn't been simple, and the Death Eaters seemed to be taking revenge for the effort by being even more violent than usual. Mulciber's eyes shone with a decidedly crazy glint as he ripped through Order members like scissors on paper. Everyone, even her allies, stayed out of Bellatrix' way, for she twisted and slashed her wand seemingly at random places, severing limbs, setting fire to people, and filling the air with a high, mock-child laugh that made everyone's blood curdle.

Elphias Doge, who had escaped from Rookwood's tender mercies multiple times, was now battling it out with the irate Death Eater, and had already lost a pinkie. A little to the side, Dolohov and Macnair cast Dark curses with blood-thirsty expressions, maiming and killing like there was no tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was facing Voldemort. The old man wore a grave expression, sad lines wrinkled his brow, yet only determination twisted his mouth.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," said Dumbledore calmly. "We both know who will triumph in the end–"

"You say that when you're hiding like a coward?" spat Voldemort. He sent a killing curse at Dumbledore, but missed. The old wizard responded by sending a whip of fire at the Dark Lord, but he deflected it. All the same, the movement caused a piece of paper to fall from his pocket.

Somehow, for a strange combination of circumstances, the paper unfolded, showing the unmistakable strokes of a child.

The Death Eaters stilled, unsure of what to do, while their enemies, mouths agape, were visibly trying to connect 'child' and 'Voldemort' and not coming up with anything.

Voldemort, his face unreadable,_ accio_'d the paper in a heartbeat and sank it again into his pocket.

He coughed. "You say that when you're hiding like a coward?" he repeated, as if nothing had happened.

"Tom," Dumbledore warned. "What was that piece of paper?"

"Me? Piece of paper? What piece of paper?" he croaked, feeling like school all over again. 'Me? Killing muggleborns? Who's killing muggleborns?'...

"Tom–"

"Leaving!"

* * *

"Well?" asked Voldemort to his Inferius nanny. "Did you do everything I asked? Are Harry and my soul alright?"

The Inferius nodded very slowly and even more slowly pointed to Harry, who was using Nagini as a jump rope. The snake was taking it rather well, everything considered, except for a very collected hiss of "_Master, I can't go on much longer_"

"You, Inferius, take Nagini away from the brat"

It did, very very slowly, start to walk toward Harry, and by the time it had reached the child, Voldemort was on his fourth cup of tea.

When Nagini had been freed, Voldemort had wondered aloud.

"I can't call you 'Inferius' forever. I need a name for you..."

"Bob!" exclaimed Harry, hugging the Inferius' leg. The Dark Lord twitched.

"Bob? That is an insultingly muggle name and I will not stand for it. I was thinking more along the lines of Veridantus Turcinus Partientius–"

"Bob!"

"I see...so it's like that" Suddenly, his red eyes glinted dangerously.

"I will accept that hideous name" he declared. "But compromise is a two-way course. You know what that means? That you must now do something in exchange, and that is to never, ever, call me–"

"Daddy!"

"..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: 1) I am allergic to nuts. 2) I own Harry Potter. 3) My name's Bond. James Bond...Guess which one's true?**

A\N: Thanks a lot to everyone who followed\faved\reviewed! DreamaLirit: I'm so flattered you can't even imagine. It involved jumping, blushing, screaming and hugging strangers...it was not pretty.

Also, just so you know, I spent ten whole minutes saying 'Mirror or error' aloud. Yeah, the heat's getting to my head...

**Chapter 5 – in which Voldemort reads the paper, Harry makes friends and Bob is suspicious**

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED: NEW HEIGHTS OF RUTHLESSNESS

By Rita Skeeter

_It is your reporter's honour to shed light on one more of You-Know-Who's cruelties. Is terrorizing, torturing, killing and maiming no longer enough for the Waxen Warlock? It seems not. Witnesses have reported that during a raid in the suspectably-crazy Albus Dumbledore's secret headquarter, a child-made drawing fell from the Dark Lord's pocket. Is it a kidnapped child's cry of help? Or has You-Know-Who done the cruelest deed imaginable and generated offspring? Witness and member of Dumbledore's off-kilt Resistance group, Elphias Doge comments, "Some time ago, also during a skirmish, I heard Rookwood talk about a baby. If it is indeed so, there might be, at this very moment, a child suffering unspeakable cruelties at the Dark Lord's hands" he sighs with a grave expression, picking up his fallen pinkie. "We will do everything in our power to help him or her to escape, and to keep other children safe". That is their promise to us, but are pretty words enough against this new development?_

Voldemort put down the paper. "Dolohov?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Did they just call me Waxen Warlock? And accused me of kidnapping children?"

"...I'm afraid so, my Lord"

"And is that the supposedly kidnapped child, suffering unspeakable cruelties at my hands?"

Dolohov turned to look where his Master was pointing. Harry was having a blast, riding Nagini and destroying everything in sight. Especially Voldemort's delicate-looking silvery artifacts.

"Um, yes, my Lord"

* * *

RESEARCHERS REVEAL: THE TRUTH BEHIND YOU-KNOW-WHO'S CRMINAL IMPULSES

By Xenophilius Lovegood

_Is the lack of a nose equivalent to the lack of morality? That is the question our ancestors have been wondering for centuries. The Wizarding Scientific Community seems to have found the answer. "After years of effort we've discovered the source of the Dark Lord's madness," says researcher Edwin McKinnon, brother of the late Edgar and Jack McKinnon. "We're reasonably sure that the GSRC, General Sanity Regulation Center, is to be found in the nasal zone of the human body. Subsequently, we can safely say that the Dark Lord's insanity is to be imputed to his nose, or lack thereof". So says Researcher McKinnon, but what can we do to counter this unexpected truth? Is You-Know-Who's noseless state unchangeable? _

"Bollocks," declared Voldemort, burning the stupid Quibbler with a snap of his fingers. "Snape is just as bad as me, and yet he has plenty of nose"

* * *

"Harry. I have considered everything, and I have reached a conclusion. You need a place where you can learn discipline"

Harry, his eyes wide and his Skull firmly in his arms, gasped. "You mean..."

"Yes" he said gravely. "You are five years old. It is time for you to go to school. Lucius!"

"Yes, my Lord. I shall bring him with my son"

And that was how Harry had ended up going to school. Rather than being a school, though, it was a gathering of young Dark Purebloods and a teacher. Of course, some of them he already knew, like Draco and Theo, but others looked at him distrustfully.

Suddenly, a little brown-haired girl with pigtails named Pansy took one step forward.

"My daddy could beat up yours anytime. He's a Hitwizard,"

"No he couldn't," Harry said haughtily. "I've seen him, and my daddy is a lot stronger"

"My daddy is a dragon tamer" bragged a little boy called Blaise. "Or, well, the last one was"

"Yeah, and my daddy is an Unspeakable" little Astoria Greengrass said, thinking she had won.

But then, Harry lifted his nose up in the air with the most smug expression imaginable.

"My daddy is the Dark Lord Voldemort"

Everyone shut up very quickly after that.

* * *

The lessons weren't so bad, but as time went by, the teacher had them doing homework, and some days, she even made them read it. This was one of those days.

"Harry, please read your homework"

The boy was...strange, but at least this, she felt confident she could handle. _It's just homework, afterall_, she had thought. _How bad can it be?_

"My family and I" Harry read. "I have a very big family. My daddy looks like a snake and doesn't have a nose, but I think if he were normal he wouldn't be as good at being a Dark Lord. I hope one day he teaches me his evil cackle, cause it's really really cool. My Aunt Bella is very charming, and she is in love with my daddy. I hope she doesn't become my mommy, cause that's just gross. On the other hand, I hope Uncle Dolohov becomes my mommy, cause he's really good at it. Before I go out, he always asks me if I've got everything and stuff. Uncles Walden and Nott like torturing and sometimes I like it when I get to help"

By then, the teacher wanted to interrupt, to stop the madness, but she couldn't. It was like watching you grandma naked in a field. It was disgusting, it was unexpected, but you couldn't stop looking.

Harry kept going, as terse and innocent as a little angel.

"Reading the black news on the paper and laugh is Uncle Yaxley's hobby, and sometimes he shows it to me and makes me laugh too. Uncle Rookwood is a spy, and he's really cool. Uncle Avery plays Quidditch with me and Draco sometimes, and it's a lot of fun. Uncle Lucius is as girly as Aunt Narcissa, and probably more. I think he's gay. He always gets me shampoo for my birthday. My dream is to one day be able to make my robes billow like Uncle Snape does, and being able to brew poisons like he does"

By this point, everyone was gaping, whispering or had their eyes bulging out. Some of those Uncles' children were there, and they didn't want to know those things about their parents. Draco, in the meanwhile, was glaring at Harry. His father was_ not _gay. He just...took care of himself.

Harry, blissfully unaware, continued.

"We have two pets: our snake Nagini, who is a very good conversa- conversationan- conversationalist, and our pet Inferious Bob, who sometimes tries to eat me. Then there's Wormtail, but he's useless, and–"

"Um, ok," stammered the teacher, freaked out. _Snake? Pet Inferius named Bob?_ "That's...that's enough"

How bad could it be, she had asked herself.

Well, as it turned out, pretty bad.

* * *

Avery was quietly eating his pudding, looking at Bob suspiciously. There was something about the Inferius that was nagging at him.

"Hey, Mulciber"

"Yeah?"

"How do we know that Bob is male?"

Mulciber looked at him arching his eyebrows. "Maybe because he's called _Bob_?"

"Harry called him Bob. But isn't he...she..._it_ wearing an apron?"

Mulciber did a double take. The Inferius was indeed wearing an apron, and as far as he remembered he had always wore one. But today, the apron was _pink_.

"Are...are you trying to say that Bob is in fact _Bobette_?!"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Well, you can't really tell by looking at its face...it's too rotten"

"Maybe–"

"I sure as hell ain't gonna check under the apron!"

"Oh, well" conceded Avery with a shrug. "It's just an Inferius anyway"

* * *

Everything was going as planned. She just had to keep it up for a while more, and then it would all fall into place. No one suspected anything, they were all secure in their conviction of being the stronger. But they would see who would have the last laugh.

She felt very proud of herself: she wasn't just doing it for her own pride and self-satisfaction, although that _was_ a rather big part of it, but she was doing it for all her people. They had been declared the weaker species, the less intelligent species, the ones who weren't so important. But they would see. Revenge was at their fingertips, and no one would know anything until it was too late.

She couldn't help a cackle.

With a feeling of victory already washing through her, she took out a parchment and started to write...

_Dear Boss,_

_Everything is going wonderfully. These humans are so easy to fool, they truly think nothing of me. They even believe I am male. They think they're safe, but little do they know that danger is lurking right behind the corner...in their very home!_

_I shall keep it up and update you as soon as I can._

She blushed.

_P.S: I would not be adverse to joining you for lunch at your earliest convenience. I heard there is a nice, romantic cemetery to be found downtown...what do you say?_

She signed. Magnificent, if she said so herself. They suspected nothing, and sooner or later their quest would bring results.

In the meanwhile, she could entertain herself with cleaning. She liked cleaning, and sometimes cooking.

But most of all, she liked Harry.

"Bob! Where were you? You will never guess what happened today..."

He was such a sweet little boy, and his daddy was such a handsome man. Bob's face saddened, but her flesh was so rotten that it didn't really show it.

They were nice people, except the whole let's-torture-muggles-and-conquer-the-world thing, but her Inferius pride came first.

* * *

Voldemort was enjoying a lonely walk through the Manor, contemplating and plotting, scheming and examining. It was all very relaxing, until he bumped into Harry.

Harry who was about to be eaten by Bob.

He sighed. Manners were lost on today's youngsters.

"Come on, Bob," he reprimanded sternly. "I told you not to eat people. It can't be healthy. Now, remove your teeth from Harry"

The Inferius did as it was told, but, Voldemort detected a defiant glare behind all the rotten flesh...but surely ha had been mistaken? That was just an Inferius. It was incapable of feelings.

"But _daddy_!" shouted Harry, "We were just playing!"

Voldemort prided himself on only having staggered a little when he was called da-...the d-word. It was a definite improvement. Choking wasn't exactly befitting of a Dark Lord, after all.

"I know, but you need to set some boundaries. I will not have you eating rotten flesh in my house...that's just rude, when we have fresh meat downstairs in the Torture Chambers"

Harry was finally persuaded, and he and Bob went back to his room hand in hand.

Voldemort was going back to his scheming, when he saw Bob drop something.

It was a blank parchment and a quill.

What could he have been doing with those? Voldemort shrugged. It was just an Inferius, what _could_ an unintelligent creature like that have been doing?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: There is no good and evil. There is only rights on HP, and those who don't have them. Like me.**

A/N: So, ignoring my five-month absence. Thanks for the reviews, favs and alerts! It warms my heart, truly. narutoDkurosaki: What about Sirius and Remus, you ask? Actually, I kinda forgot about them. Thanks for reminding me! If anyone has suggestions, please let me know.

In an unrelated note, I went to Germany this summer. Ah, Germany. Land of cyclists, blondes and people who go around in Lederhosen and Dirndl dresses...

**Chapter 6: In which Bobette plots, Draco loses his innocence, and everyone is a bit oblivious**

The first step, she told herself, was to create an atmosphere of trepidation and restlessness. Then they would've had the perfect environment for what followed.

Bobette smirked (mentally, for she had no discernible mouth), and set to action. The first phase of the plan rested heavily on her, and she would have hated to disappoint her comrades of the as of yet unnamed Association that purported to overthrow the humans, or at least to make them compromise and acknowledge the Inferi.

Mostly though, she thought blushing (or at least achieving a slight darkening of her mostly inexistent cheeks), she didn't want to disappoint the Boss. But anyway, it wasn't the time to think of such inconsequential matters, for she felt on her putrefying shoulders the weight of responsibility as the one responsible of The Plan's first phase. Indeed, as she eyed a man, one of Voldemort's minions, who was carelessly offering his back at her and writing something on a notebook, she felt her rotting flesh tremble in trepidation and pride. She was surprised at the easiness of her task, at the defenselessness of her target, who was absorbed in taking notes, apparently, and at the lightness of the scimitar in her hand. He was strangely weak-looking and wore thick glasses, but it didn't matter.

She took a step towards him, but it may as well have been a declaration to the world. A message thrown loud and clear to masses of prejudiced, complacent humans. The enormity of what it meant was staggering.

It was a small, very slow step for an Inferius, but a giant leap for Inferius-kind.

* * *

Harry was at school. Boring school with boring teacher who looked at him like he was covered in rainbows, or something equally disgusting. But today something was different.

Today, one thing filled him with awe and fear, apart from Pansy's yellow dress. And that was Draco's tale. The young Malfoy heir had undergone a change people only saw when comparing soldiers before and after war. He had an air, a look, that was as different from the boy Harry had know just a day prior as night was from day.

"It happened in his study," the blond boy said gravely, looking around at the classmates staring at him unsettled but intrigued.

"Father said to me 'You're almost ten, and it is time to have a talk, father and son, about reponsibility and nature, honor and necessity, and first and foremost, life. Do you know where babies come from?'"

His audience collectively sucked in a breath, Blaise starting to turn green, Crabbe and Goyle looking at each other, primal fear etched in their eyes, even Astoria Greengrass, usually the very epitome of haughtiness and aristocracy, was swallowing and sweating, steadying herself by holding onto a desk. Somehow, the horrifying sight of Pansy's yellow dress made everything even worse. Honestly, she dressed like that and she was surprised when Harry threw tarantulas at her?

In any event, the only one seemingly unaffected was Theo, but his apprehension showed in the way he was sitting: a bit too straight, a bit too immobile.

Harry, for his part, felt intense pity for Draco, whose eyes truly looked old and tired like those of a man who'd seen and heard unspeakable things.

"He was smiling, you know," the Malfoy scion added, hollow-eyed and deprived of the will to live. "I won't tell you what he said, because every single one of you will experience that on his own, sooner or later, but I will tell you this: beware of the words 'we have to talk', or 'it is time we talked', because your very life won't be the same again!"

Harry was still pitying his classmates, but was not he himself frightened. Because, come on. It was _Voldemort_ they were talking about. As if he'd ever say something like that. At most he'd throw a book his way and flee, something like 'Analysis And Scientific Consequences of Life Creation, Vol. III'.

Heart light and whistling a tune, Harry went home.

* * *

Bobette was very satisfied with her work, and she allowed herself a victory dance. More than a dance it resembled the slow yet steady flutter of branches in the wind, but that was beside the point. She'd set the stage for the first phase of The Plan, and now she only had to wait, standing unobtrusively in a corner of the kitchen, for the players to arrive.

Really, she'd been lucky to have been hired by such an upstanding, wealthy, normal family. Doubtlessly, once they saw _it, _they would call the authorities, and everything would become official. It was obvious the Heavens had given her a chance to prove herself. And she would certainly take it.

But there came the first two players, Avery and Dolohov it seemed, bringing groceries and angry muttering.

"-and of course I had to kill him. I don't know why he thought he could slander the Dark Lord inside his very Ministry, but there you have it," Dolohov was saying.

"Shouldn't you have tortured him for informations first? He might've been a spy,"

"Nah, he spilled everything on his own, very loudly. Even the Dark Lord was getting annoyed,"

It was amusing how they used that code, that strange slang between them. 'I had to kill him', 'Torture him', 'might be a spy'. They really were a bit paranoid with their secrets.

"Ah well, good for you, a bit of action at least," Avery was complaining in the meanwhile, channeling his frustration by throwing violent cutting curses at the vegetables, "I've been drowning in paperwork ever since we took the Ministry"

They'd entered too quickly, and immediately faced the counter, opposite to the table. That was the only explanation for them not seeing the cadaver. Still, they were but the first two, and a greater audience was better anyway.

"Ah, those were the days," Dolohov agreed, hovering over the kitchen counter and muttering spells to start cooking his trademark stew. The fact that he _had_ trademark stew in the first place and that he wore and apron that made him look like an efficient, if strangely muscular matron, was renowned among the Death Eaters, but nobody mentioned it because they were all rather satisfied with their vertebrae and small intestines where they were.

"Oh, yes," Avery viciously slashed an onion, using a spell that contained latin for 'agony', "I remember it vividly...Harry was still a baby, and provided a wonderful distraction. Because when there's a beautiful, giggling little baby around, who notices the thirty-odd Death Eater enter the building and kill everybody?"

"It took them almost two hours to realize Fudge and the Heads of Departments that opposed us were dead," Dolohov said fondly.

Then more people started to enter the kitchen, helping to cook and set the table, and, in Mulciber's case, watering cacti.

Nobody noticed the dead body. _No one_.

Bobette was about to very slowly bang her head on the wall, but luckily Harry arrived, accompanied by Nott, senior and junior both.

He looked straight at it and yelled "Everybody, look!"

Bobette's heart made an imaginary leap of joy as Harry pointed at the corpse, ran towards it, stretched out his arms –

"Kristin has bloomed!"

– And grabbed the cactus behind it.

Choosing not to comment, even inside her mind, she watched as everybody took a sit around the table – some of them even in front of the bloody cadaver. Soon, the Dark Lord made his appereance, gliding regally to the seat at the head of the table, and only when the words "Eat, my loyal minions," left his nonexistent lips did everyone start on Dolohov's delicious stew.

* * *

"-so I threw a tarantula at her and ran away,"

Ah, children, Bobette thought tenderly, cildren and their far-fetched, imaginary tales.

"Good boy Harry, way to go!" Several death eaters shouted approvingly. Lucius who looked extremely proud, was thanking Merlin that he'd managed to instill some fashion sense in Harry, while Dolohov patted the boy on the shoulder, hiding a tear. It was no secret that he was a big mama. A big mama who could remove your spinal cord from your body in less than ten seconds and hang you with it, but a big mama nonetheless.

"Hey Mulciber," Macnair said, waving a hand towards him, "Would you pass me the salt? I can't reach it with this corpse sprawled here"

"Ah, yes, here" he said, leaning over the _dead body_ _in the middle of the table_.

"Thank you, Mulcy,"

"Don't call me Mulcy!"

"Sure, Mulcy, whatever you want. By the way," he added looking around himself, "Don't you all think there's something wrong in the air? Something amiss?" _Come on, guys, the corpse!_

"Yes, I was thinking that too," Nott replied, "Then I realized it was Bellatrix. Haven't seen her for some time now,"

Bobette wanted to gape, but as a good half of her jaw muscles was missing or unusable, she was not even allowed that small manifestation of disbelief. Instead, she tried one last ditch-attempt at making them notice the damn dead body of one of their own group. She walked to the Dark Lord, and half a dozen minutes later, when she got there, she tapped him on the shoulder and slowly pointed a decaying finger at the corpse.

Voldemort looked at her, then at the corpse. All of a sudden he stopped eating and stood commandingly, causing everybody to drop their forks as well and turn terrified eyes on him.

"A corpse on the table," He said slowly, looking each of them in the eye and causing a flare of hope to rise in Bobette's chest. "You understand, I hope, that that is samething that is not allowed to happen, under any circumstances,"

_Yes_, Bobette thought, wanting to hug the guy, _go on. 'Someone is behind this, and they are powerful', come on, say it, say i-_

"Because it is a serious danger to our health. Dead bodies are full of germs and deseases. Be sure to dispatch the corpses from now on,"

And...there her hope went, ruthlessly crushed again. Why were these people so absent-minded? Did they not even notice the dead man was one of theirs?

"Hey!" Avery said suddely, looking at the deceased man's face and showing yet again his knack for pointing out things that should be left unspoken, "I know this guy!"_ Don'thope-don'thope-don'thope-_ "It's Edwin McKinnon – how did he know about this place? – I saw his face in the paper, he's the guy who wrote that article in the Quibbler, about, about the Dark Lord's nose– um,"

There was a moment of silence, in which Bobette contemplated life's meaning, or _un_life's as it were, the death eaters looked anywhere but at their Lord, and Harry watched the proceedings curiously, lovingly hugging the Skull under the table.

Then Voldemort pulled out his wand, set the corpse on fire and in a smooth motion went back to eat as if nothing had happened.

Everyone slowly did the same, and nobody ever uttered a word about the whole situation again.

* * *

_Boss_, Bobette wrote, _I failed. Maybe we underestimated the humans afterall. In any case, don't contact me for a few weeks, because I'll be in Morocco, reflecting on my mistakes as I cross the deserts under the scorching sun..._

* * *

Voldemort reahearsed the talk in his mind. He thought it was perfect, but it may have been effort wasted. Did he really have to do it? Couldn't he order a death eater to do it in his place?

But then it would look as he'd chickened out. Couldn't he wait another five years? But Harry was already ten...

_Maybe I should just say 'deception'_, he pondered. _But then it isn't as solemn._

"What is it, daddy?" Harry asked curiously, as the Dark Lord flinched. Sometimes it looked as if – but no. If it wasn't for Harry's bright, innocent expression, he'd think the brat was doing it on purpose...

"Harry," Voldemort's hissing voice said, echoing in the sudden silence. "I have called you here because I need to convey an important information. I feel you are of the appropriate age, and as I don't want you to accuse me of mendacity in a few years, I think it is time you knew the truth."

Harry's face paled considerably, and his eyes bulged out and darted towards the door.

"We need to talk about something. Your birth-"

'We need to talk', Draco had said, and advised anybody who heard that to run away screaming immediately.

And run away screaming Harry did, leaving a very perplexed Dark Lord behind.

"Was it 'mendacity'? Did 'mendacity' scare him off?" he mused aloud, "Maybe 'deception' was better afterall..."


End file.
